White Bird
by JunoMagic
Summary: Elwing flies to the stars as a white bird, trying to reach the star Eärendil, her lover and husband. One day he disappears from the sky. Will she ever meet him again? More poetry than story.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Middle Earth, Aman, and all their inhabitants belong to the Tolkien Estate, this is fan fiction written just for fun, no copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made with this.

**A/N:** The song that goes with Elwing's story is "Sailor" by Chris de Burgh, on his "Eastern Wind" album, check it out, it's really perfect!

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**oooOooo**

**White Bird**

**oooOooo**

**

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**

**Prologue**

More than two thousand miles north of Aqualóndë the lands are empty and wild. Since the Valar raised the mountains of heaven, the Pelóri, as a fence against Melkor, these dark lands between Aman and the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë have been called the Wastes of Araman. No elves have ever dwelt there and not many creatures are sufficiently robust to endure the harsh climate of these northern wastelands.

When the connection of the Helcaraxë between Aman and Arda was sundered at the beginning of the second age, this wild country grew even lonelier. And it is said that the language of birds and beasts is strange there.

On an island close to the far shore of Haerast, a white tower can be found.

It is a graceful round tower built from white stones, which glow in the night and it has no door. At the very top of the tower there is perfectly round room, and from this room a door made of glass leads on a balcony, which looks to the East, where the sun rises.

It is said that on clear nights you can see the white tower from as far away as Aqualóndë or the island of Himling far to the East.

A white fire burns at the top of this white tower, calling out across the sea.

And sometimes – or at least that is the legend told by the fisher folk of Himling –, on starlit nights a white bird flies from the tower and up to the stars, singing of love and loss, and those who hear this song are never the same again.

The White Tower is home to Lady Elwing, and as a white bird she has flown out across the sea and up into the heavens to reach the very stars since the end of the first age.

But even though her gleaming white wings have taken her far above Arda and her seas, and her love and her pure heart have lifted her even higher, she has never reached the stars.

And the songs and legends do not tell, if she is still flying today.

**oooOooo**

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours  
JunoMagic


	2. Thinking

**1. Thinking**

The warm stream of the Hearast, which flowed along the coasts of Aman, ensured a relatively mild climate, even this far to the North.

But really hot summers were a rare occurrence.

This however, was such a rare summer. It had been hot for weeks with no rain at all and almost now wind during the day. Only when the sun set and the wind blew from the Shadowy Seas to the Wastes of Areman, the suffocating heat was relieved in the room at the top of Elwing's white tower.

Twilight covered the shores and the wastelands behind the tower, but the stars had not yet risen. The fastness of the Pelóri swallowed the evening light long before the sun actually disappeared into the Doors of Night. No red and golden beauty of a glorious sunset had ever touched the white stones of the tower.

The slender Elven woman stood on her balcony, looking out across the Sundering Seas towards the East. She waited for the stars to rise, as she had done every night since she had first come to live in this tower. Those one or two hours of twilight before the first stars appeared in the sky of night were always hard to endure. She sighed softly.

_Would he still be gone?_

In those long moments of waiting, she always found a tinge of sympathy for Melkor and his jealousy of the Valar in his heart. The Valar could not understand the balance of Eä. They had no comprehension of the darker emotions, ambition, wrath, fear; the necessity of failure and suffering escaped them. In defending their lands of brightness and goodness they had raised the Pelóri to defenses as high as the sky, robbing many leagues of land and sea of the beauty and the light of the setting sun.

Neither did she forgive Melkor or his slain servant for their evil deeds, nor could she really comprehend the depths of their evil, which had almost destroyed Eä itself, but she knew how the seeds of this evil had been sown.

She inhaled the salty breeze and longingly lifted her eyes to the sky. But although there was no sunlight left on this side of the Pelóri, the sky was still bright, an inky, ultramarine blue, and the lights of Varda were not yet lit.

_Where was her star?_

Maybe she could understand about the balance of Eä better than the Valar, because her life had too often changed with the scales of fate, of light and darkness.  
She knew darkness. Her own darkness and the darkness in others.  
She also knew of lessons in life, which could only be learned through sacrifice and suffering.  
The greatest good, the greatest love, had to rise from darkness and despair.

But when it did, it would shine all the brighter.

_Eärendil, where are you, meleth-nîn?_

She sighed again, as her thoughts drifted to her son, far away to the East.  
She had felt the recharging of Arda with the astelellion in spring.  
Her heart told her that he was safe, that the girl, who had called him back from his darkness, who loved him so much, was safe.

This knowledge had to be enough.

But of course it was not. It would never be enough. Her hands gripped the railing of the balcony so tightly that her knuckles stood out.

She lifted her head, tilted her head back and scanned the sky, although she knew each star and each constellation for the run of the year, every hour of every night, by heart. If she closed her eyes, she could see each and every one star visible from this part of the world, and their travels through the year. But still she scanned the sky every night as if she had never seen it before.

_Why did you leave me, Eärendil?_

It had been a routine to her for hundreds of years.  
Every night she had looked at the sky, had found her star.  
Her star, the brightest of all, the star of her life, Eärendil!

Her yearning, her longing had lifted her heart and strengthened her wings, and almost every night she had flown out into the darkness, soaring higher and higher into the sky, until she could almost see his beloved face, almost hear his voice, almost…

Her strength had never been enough.  
Her love had never been enough.

But she had never stopped trying.

And then, one day, some seventy years ago, he had vanished.

A star fallen from the sky!

_How can this be…?_

For the first time in two millennia she had left her tower and flown to into Valinor, to Valmar, city of bells, to the Valar Themselves. But they had not shown themselves to her.

In her desperation she had – the first time ever – claimed her seat on the High Council of the Elves. Her stomach churned with the dark memories of those days.

Oh, those councilors…

How disturbed they had been!  
How completely at a loss!  
And the Valar – silent.

And even today, she had to bite down on her lips, not to wail with anguish.

And even today, they did not speak!

After all that had happened!

_Eärendil!_

She looked up at the sky again, tears burning in her golden eyes.  
She had looked up just in time to see the newest and brightest of all stars appear just above the Pelóri.

_Gwaelion!_

She had flown up to this new born star.

And although his brightness was different from the blaze of Eärendil, somehow, deep in her heart, she had hoped for a miracle, to see her lover restored – at least to his accustomed place in the skies of night, if not to her…

But as she had strained and strained against the power of gravity, she had recognized the face of the young prince of Dol Amroth very clearly. His eyes had been shining, his face full of unearthly delight.

Tumbling between relief at the young sailor's acceptance of his fate and the despair of losing the star of her own heart, she had returned to earth.  
Weary and bruised she had been forced to bide her time at the tower for weeks.

When her strength finally returned, she returned to her search.

The wind picked up. The deep moaned around her with many voices. The stars blazed brightly in the moonless summer night.

She spread her arms.  
She felt the air prickle against her skin.

With a cry she threw herself into the air.

A white bird soared from the white tower.  
A white bird with golden eyes winged higher and higher.  
A white bird wheeled above the sea.

Searching.  
Searching.

Never finding.

_Eärendil!_

A white bird's cry echoed above the Shadowy Seas.  
A white bird's cry faded in the summer wind.

Unnoticed.  
Unheard.

_Eärendil?_


	3. Knowing

**2. Knowing**

She had been flying far and wide, all through the moon lit night.

She had returned to her tower with the first morning light.

She had crumbled to the floor in an exhausted heap of white hair and white feathers.

There had been no information.

In all of Aman.

And Eressëa.

Even the Enchanted Isles.

The Valar – vanished at her approach.

The Sisters of Time – while sympathetic, silent.

Nothing.

**oooOooo**

She woke, when a small, soft body collided with her.

Turning, she knelt to pick up a small white bird in her small white hands.

It was a tern, a sea swallow, swept in from afar.

Tiny and torn.

"Tuílínn, tuílínn! Man agorech, muínthel-nîn?"

„Tern, tern! What hast thou done, oh sister mine?"

Dark birds' eyes strained to meet her gaze.

By Ulmo's grace Elwing the White, bird-sister, white bird, star lover: though not as words little sister tern spoke to her soul in images seen from above.

Wheeling high and low, far, far, far to go.

A gift of knowledge, a gift of love:

The Western shores of Arda, green hills graced by grey ruins, columns of forgotten grace – and the blue and white crystal of the lighthouse blazing brightly across the sea.

Blue and white light in darkest night.

One jewel shining with the light of Two Trees.

Light of the noontide lingering.

Blue and white light in darkest night.

Eärendil's shining star!

**oooOooo**

But tiny sister tern, tiny heart torn, lay dead in her hand.

White bird Elwing might be, but would her wings carry her across the sundering sea?


	4. Flying

**3. Flying**

She had buried the small body of the white tern below her bush of cream-colored roses, covering it with green moss and smooth pebbles she had picked up on the beach once.

Standing on her balcony, looking towards the East, she had begun to shake with the realization. Her legs suddenly weak she slid down to the smooth white stone.

Her back resting against the doorframe of intricately carved mahogany wood, she tried to breathe slowly and easily.

She stared across the endless sea. Green and blue waves glittered like silver in the morning sun. She lifted her golden, bird-like eyes and searched the Eastern horizon. But high as her tower might be, she could not see the shores of Arda from here. Indeed, she could not fly high enough in the sky during a single night to catch but a glimpse of its shores of green and grey, far away.

But he was there.  
He was at the lighthouse of the Grey Havens.

Would he be human once more?  
Or turned into stone?  
A setting for the crystal blazing across the sea of night?

She knew she had to rest. She had to gather all her strength to fly. She would have to fly farther than she had ever flown before.

But she could not go in just yet.

Knowing that he was there, somewhere –  
She could not turn her gaze from the Eastern horizon.

Tears of longing glittered in her eyes.

A brilliant morning sun hit the glowing white stones of the tower. Its white stones shimmered whiter than the snowier glaciers of the Pelóri, whiter than the few fluffy clouds of summer drifting in the skies so blue.

**oooOooo**

On the balcony of the tower, which was facing towards the East, away from Aman and across the sea, a bush with cream-colored roses was blooming, adding its sweet fragrance to the salty sea breeze. The soft warm wind drifting in from the sea lifted the silky strands of white hair from the tense face of an Elvish woman, who sat cross-legged, her back against the doorframe, looking out across the sea. Her figure was delicate, birdlike; her eyes golden, her pupils large and black, a disconcerting gaze, intense and almost feral with longing. Dark, slanting eyebrows and sharp pointy ears only added to the impression of caged wilderness, which her body held.

_White bird waiting._

Had there ever been a longer day?

She had finally left the balcony and gone back into the circular room at the very top of her white tower, when the unrelenting heat of the summer sun at noon had become too hard to bear, even for her.

The windows of her tower were hung with heavy grey drapes, and the thick stone walls preserved some measure of coolness and shadow even in this hottest of summers.

She forced herself to eat well and drink a lot of cool, clear water.  
She had to gather as much energy into herself as possible for the night.  
She lay down on her broad bed, pulling a silken sheet across her lithe body.

She did not close her eyes, but chose to walk the strange roads of Elvish dreams with open eyes, slightly glazed, unfocused – mind and soul far, far away.

The hours of the hot afternoon dragged along.  
Minutes turned into years and hours into centuries.

At least it seemed to her as if eternity had come to visit for this afternoon.

Finally, finally, the late and golden summer sun sunk behind the Pelóri.  
Twilight swept across the Wastes of Araman and the Shadowy Seas.

And yet the sky remained bright and blue, and no star and only a pale moon slowly rising for another millennium of an hour or two.  
Far away in the East the first star finally rose. Varda's first blessing to Ilúvatar's first children, Vardamir. The first hint of silver reflected on Elwing's still eyes, and roused her instantly.

She drew a deep shuddering breath.  
She rose from the bed and slid out of her simple white gown.  
She walked out on the balcony naked; her only cloak her feathery white hair, drifting down to her ankles.

For a moment she stood on the balcony in the summer night.

Her golden eyes glittered with starlight, her white hair shimmered like the moon fallen to earth, her pure, pale skin glowed like mother of pearl.

She inhaled the sweet, cool air of night and sea of summer.

A night for singing.  
A night for dancing.  
A night for loving.

_A night for flying._

She lifted her slender white arms high above her head, and in letting them fall, she launched herself from the balcony into the air.

_Tumbling, falling –_

spreading her wings, gliding across the waves whiter than a moon beam, rising, soaring, high and higher in the sky.

_White bird must fly._

**oooOooo**

She took her bearing. Straight across the sundering seas, forever to the East.

As a bird her heart was cool and composed.

The feathers of her wings caught the currents of air drifting up from the waves.

She rose yet another league and spread her wings as far as she might.

The winds were favorable tonight, blowing from the West, gaining strength from the heat rising from the surface of the ocean.  
For hours she was carried by those winds, flying league after league to the East without having to exert any strength of wing.  
From Elwing's tower to the lighthouse of the Grey Havens the sundering seas span a distance of more than 1,200 miles.  
As the night slowly passed, the winds changed, the additional strength of the winds, which had been gained from air rising from the heated surface of the summer seas, diminished.

More and more she had to call on her own body's strength to carry her on and on towards the East.

Midnight passed.  
The stars changed.  
The path of the full moon drew to its end.

_White bird flew on and on._

**oooOooo**

A summer sea of silver stretched in endless waves below her. A starlit heaven of summer rose eternally above her. But Elwing never noticed.

Her mind was on a light she could see far to the East.  
Far, far away she thought she could see a light.

Now it was gone.  
Then it was there.

Now it was gone, then it was there; pulsing like a heartbeat through the endless night.

Eärendil's light returned to earth once more.  
Elwing's love giving her heart wings.

On and on she flew, but still there was no coast.

_Midnight gone, white bird flies on._

**oooOooo**

In the small hours of the night her wings weaken. 

Now she has to concentrate on each stroke of her white wings, wheeling from air current to air current, golden eyes burning with fatigue.

The lithe, strong body of the white bird grows heavier from hour to hour.  
Her breathing is no longer easy. Each breath sears her tired lungs like fire.

But there are still hours left to the summer's night, and the sundering seas are still wide.

_White bird's will and not her wings carries her on._

**oooOooo**

As the night grows light, she can see finally see the distant shore.

But the stars already grow dim.

Not much is left of the darkness of the summer's night.  
Not much is left of her wings' white power.

Perhaps an hour.  
Maybe more.

_Will this be enough to carry white bird to shore?_


	5. Falling

**4. Falling**

A white bird with golden eyes soared under the fading light of the stars towards the Gulf of Lune.

Every breath burned like fire in her strained lungs.  
Every beat of her tired wings sent waves of agony through her body.

And still there was only the sea below her, and the far green shores seemed drawing farther and farther away into a golden haze of early morning light.

Soon the sun would rise, and she would not be able to maintain her bird form in its bright and earthly light.  
Soon the sun would rise and she would fall.

Training her gaze onto the wavering blue and white light, which flashed to her from the distant shore, Elwing drew on hidden reserves of strength she had not known she possessed.

With a desperate burst of speed, she streaked across the brightening sky, a feathery white arrow seeking its target.

But although the shores and the lighthouse of the Havens were by now clearly visible to her sharp bird's eyes, her haven was still many miles away.

_Dawn was coming swiftly now._

Already the sky was flushed with pink and gold in the East, holding the promise of a sweet summer's day.

The sky of night, which sheltered her still, was paling by the minute, its myriads of stars withdrawing to the outer reaches of heaven and void with every labored breath she took.

On, on, on – she thought.  
Just one more time.  
One more time.

Her wings were growing heavy, dragging her down.

Already she was losing height, and the strength of the air currents supporting her lithe form was diminishing.

On, on, on – she thought.  
Just one more time.  
And one more time.

I can see the light.

Tiny sister tern was right.

Blue and white, Eärendil's light.

On, on, on – she thought.

Pain in her lungs.  
Pain in her wings.

_Pain!_

On, on, on – she thought.

Could she even remember him?

It had been millennia since she had last seen his eyes.  
Since she had heard his voice.  
Since she had felt his touch.

A cry of anguish rose from the depth of her heart.  
A cry of pain echoed across the vastness of the sea.  
A cry of desperation was swept to the shores of Mithlond's havens grey.

White bird's wings faltered.  
White bird's eyes lost sight of her light of blue and white.

Once more she regained her balance, forced her tired body upwards, soaring, flying, up, up, up into the sky of morning –

the sky of morning –

golden, glorious, bright with grace:

_sunrise!_

White bird wings on.  
White bird's wings gone.

_White bird falling from the sky:_

tumbling,  
turning,  
white feathers drifting down onto the waves.

With a scream a slender Elvish woman hit the waves in cloud of white feathers.  
For a moment she tried to keep her head above the waves, striking out as if to swim to shore.

Then the last remnants of strength left her.  
The waves closed in above her.

_She was gone._

**oooOooo**

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this story.

Yours  
JunoMagic


	6. Finding

**6.**** Finding**

He had heard her voice.  
He sat up in his bed, his old heart pounding like a drum.

Faltering.  
Steadying.

He sat in his bed, his old heart pounding like a drum.

Had he heard her voice?

In all those centuries they had been parted, not a single day had passed – that he had not thought of her, had not remembered her, had not longed for her.

With all of his heart, all of his soul.

He missed her still.

Her voice.  
Her eyes.  
Her hands.  
Her laugh.  
Her touch.  
Her anger.  
Her joy.  
Her stubbornness.  
Her grace.

He would always miss her.

She was a part of his soul.  
She was the better part of his soul.

Without her, he felt lost.  
Afloat without a course or destination.  
Blowing with the wind.  
Unhinged.

How often had he imagined the call of her voice, since he had returned to the circles of this world, where there was air again to carry the sound of her voice.

How often had he rushed down to the sea, plunging into the cold waves chasing white gulls.

How often had he felt the temptation of rowing across the tides of time to find her white tower.

How often had he in loneliness and longing barely stayed the hand on the knife.

How often had he been set on acting the fool, as he had been wont to do before, when first he dwelt in Arda, a memory of her had come upon him.

A memory of HER.

A cocked head, white hair flowing.  
Golden eyes, cool and slightly disdainful.  
Only a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of a rose colored, sensuous mouth.

Knife had stayed in the cupboard.  
Boat had stayed moored to the quay.  
He had learned to stay in bed.

In time it became easier.

This time around he was fully human after all.

Although he had the feeling that the Valar had messed it up once again.

He had not been used to counting the years at first.  
He had missed the passage of twenty or thirty years. Maybe fifty.  
But the years he had counted by now amounted to more than ninety years, and he knew of no human man in the fourth age of the world who had grown that old and still retained the full capacities of mind and body.

Well, perhaps not the full capacities.

But he was neither pissing himself yet, nor forgetting his name. Nor hers.

As if he could ever forget her name!

Had that been her voice?  
Had she called his name?

He pressed his hand over his heart, trying to calm the frantic pounding in his chest.

For the first time in millennia he knew that he was not young anymore, and never would be again.

The cry echoed in his ears.

He could hear it in the rhythm of his heart, his racing, almost faltering heart.

Anguish.  
Pain.  
Despair.

Nononononononono.

Her cry should be joy!

JOY!

He was out of the bed and running to the door before he realized what he was doing.

He never stopped to think.

Dawn colored the eastern sky in pale pastels.  
Rose.  
Pink.  
A hue of gold.

He raced across the cool, damp sands of the beach.  
His naked feet sinking into the sands.  
His footprints filled with water and were gone.  
His hands found the rim of his small boat.  
The wood was smooth to the touch.  
He had handled with care, for more than ninety years of going to the lighthouse and back.  
Every morning and every evening without fail.  
He shoved the boat into the water. The cold of the ocean made him gasp and wheeze.  
His lungs were growing old, too.

But this time he was sure.

It had been her voice.

Her sweet, clear voice.

Calling for him.  
Calling his name.

And if he had only imagined it, what the hell.  
He had imagined it a thousand times before.

What did it matter, if he made a fool of himself one more time?

After all, that was what he was.

A fool.  
An old fool.  
A fool in love.

After thousands of years.

The boat skipped in the rushing of the tide.  
It took all the strength he had to hold on to the boat.  
But he held on.  
He jumped into the boat and smote the oars into the waves of the oncoming tide.  
Though he was old, he had retained some strength and honor even in these grey days of his life.  
He kept a smooth rhythm, and soon he was on a level with the lighthouse, where the crystal shone in its blue and white light.

A beautiful, magical light, pure as the stars.  
Powerful.  
Beguiling.

He had ceased noticing the light many years before.

His soul was free.  
His mind was free.  
But his heart was not.

Had she, oh, could she be with him, he would at last, at long last be at peace.  
For the first time he would be at peace.

He left the lighthouse behind him, rowing his small boat far out onto the open sea.  
Soon he was far enough away from the coast.

Still the cry he had dreamed of, the cry he desired above all other things, echoed in his ears.

He answered the cry.

In an old man's croaking, breaking voice, he called for her, as he had called for her so many times before.

"Elwing!" He called.  
"Elwing!" He called.  
And again."Elwing!"

"My love!" But already his voice was exhausted, rough and breaking, his frail old man's breath almost spent.

"Elwing!"

There!  
There! Drifting on the water!  
A crest of foam?  
White feathers lost by a bird in flight?

ELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWING!

A pain such as he had never felt before exploded in his chest.  
The oars were heavy as the world in his hands.  
But he smote them down into these Sundering Seas.

ELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWINGELWING!

Was she dead she could not be dead how could she be here dead she could not be here she could not be dead how could she be here she must not be dead she must not be dead she has to live she has to live how can she be here how can she be here she must not be dead she has to

live!

ELWING!

He caught slender pale arms in his rough callused hands.  
He heaved a thin fragile body into his boat, tears running into a silver beard,  
He kissed cold, youthful lips with the mouth of an old, old love.

A bit withered that mouth.  
A bit dry that mouth.  
But still alive that mouth.  
Still alove that mouth.  
Strong that mouth.  
Enough that mouth.

To give life.  
To give love.

Golden eyes opened.  
Golden eyes looked at him.  
Golden eyes smiled at him.

This time it had not been a dream.

**oooOooo**

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**A/N: **I know it's kind of crazy to introduce forms and structures of modern poetry into LoTR fanfiction, but I couldn't help myself.  



	7. Epilogue

**A/N: **The story was inspired by the song "Sailor" by Chris de Burgh (from the album "Eastern Wind"); lyrics are here (copy & paste, take out the spaces): lyricsondemand. com/c/chrisdeburghlyrics/sailorlyrics. html

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**oooOooo**

**Epilogue**

He looked at the beautiful young woman lying in his arms.  
Her gleaming white hair mingled with the flowing silver of his beard on his chest.

"Do you remember?" He asked her softly, looking at the silver moon shining through the window. The moon hung low over the south-western horizon, just as it had eons ago.

_The same moon!_

But the harbor was peaceful now, and no ship had gone out during the night.  
Yet in his arms the woman shivered and pressed her slim body against his, seeking shelter from the memories stirred by the moonlight..

"Yes," she whispered. "Of course I remember…" 

Another time, another land, another life…  
_…a dark night and a silver moon and prayers rising to the stars._

Her eyes were large and dark in her white face. He cupped her cheek in a large, warm hand. His skin was rough from the salty water of the ocean, and of many ages spent in sun and rain and wind. "How long did you call for me?" He asked softly. She only smiled at him, the gold of her eyes deepening. She reached up and laid a slender white hand across his brown one. 

"And I did not come!" He whispered. "I never came until it was too late. I was such a fool!"

"A fool," she agreed. "A fool, but a hero." 

Her gaze was lost in the silver light of the moon. But her body slowly relaxed, molded against his hardened old man's muscles.

"A fool, a bird and a devoted friend set sail to find the Straight Road, to sail across the Tides of Time and all the Sundering Seas." She chanted, clinging to him like a child.

He held her close, afraid of ever letting go of her again.  
He would never let go of her again, before the end of time.

"But we made it," he said, and there was still a hint of pride in his voice.

"Yes," she whispered, and pressed her lips against his hand. "We made it."

And there was the faint memory of pride in her voice, too.

A cloud passed in front of the moon. Shadows grew in the corners of the small chamber.  
A bleak breeze blew into the Gulf of Lune, carrying memories of darkness across the Sundering Seas.

White feathers danced in the wind.  
Again a shiver ran across her body.

He shuddered against her.

"A sea, but no waves.  
A horizon, but no land.  
A ship, but no sail." he said finally.

"And a white tower without a door," she told him.

_"White bird wheeling all alone…"_

He looked at her. 

He was an old fisherman, with white hair and a long silver beard, his bright blue eyes almost lost under bushy brows. His face was tanned and lined and creased from wind, weather and sea. He was still strong, like a gnarled ancient tree, way up on the cliff, that bends to the storm and persists. He was still there, smoothed and weathered by the tides of time, but still there.

His spirit unbroken.

His love undiminished.

She looked at him.

She had eyes like a hawk, great and golden. She had hair white as the snow, flowing around her body like silken rain. She had a face untouched by second, minute, hour, day or week, a face unmoved by year, decade, century or millennium. She was slim and young and beautiful, just as she had always been. She was still there, unchanged, unchanging, unchangeable, as the seas and the moon and the stars.

She was still there; _alive._  
She was still there; _alove._

"I am glad you are home," he murmured into her ear. 

"I am glad that I am home," she whispered into his beard.

The silver moon waned.  
They fell asleep.

**oooOooo**

* * *

THE END

* * *

**oooOooo**

**A/N:** The story can also be found in the members' archive at HASA, WITH the lyrics in the text...

**oooOooo**

**********************************************************Please feel free to leave a comment! **

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing. Comments, concrit, congratulations (wink!) are always welcome.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this story.

Yours  
JunoMagic


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